Contents May Have Settled
by asecondgrace
Summary: Emma Pillsbury always thought people were exaggerating when they said you could buy anything on the internet. When a strange boy named Blaine arrives on her doorstep, she might have to reconsider.
1. Chapter 1

Emma sat perched at the edge of her chair, rocking back and forth as she ran a thumb over the rim of her glass. The ice had nearly melted, but the condensation kept it from feeling warm. She needed that right now, the calming effect of a smooth, cool surface to go along with the cucumber vodka she'd poured herself and nearly finished; its cool, crisp taste more grounding than the chair in which she sat.

She took another breath and held it as she opened her eyes; the wooden boards and sawdust still where she'd left them in the middle of the floor, the top half of the giant, navy blue can lolling about to the side and the lower half still sitting in the center, its panels fanning out around the base like a flower and vaguely sticky with the pale grey jelly-like substance coating the insides. She shuddered at the sight, fairly sure not even two pairs of gloves would make the cleaning process any easier. She then found herself feeling more than a little incredulous that she was focusing so much on what was still inside the can, when what she should be thinking about was what had already come _out _of it_. _

After all, it wasn't every day a body came face to...thing with a wrinkled mass of lumpy gray _stuff_ that tottered about on two hairy feet and called you _Mom._

"Mom?" Emma had echoed, falling back in shock as she stared at the gray lump. One of the wrinkles popped open, and she almost passed out when she saw a bright, honey-colored eye looking out at her. "What-_who are you_?"

"My name is Blaine," it croaked, another wrinkle moving almost imperceptibly as Emma watched. "But you can change it, if you like." Emma stared at it for a moment before it gave a nervous cough and looked away. "If you don't mind, could I please take a bath? I don't want to be an inconvenience, but I'm afraid I'm going to look a bit strange until I have some time to soak in the nutrient solution."

"Solu-" Emma broke off as she caught sight of a navy blue packet stuck to one of the lump's feet. "Pardon me, I-" She lowered herself to her hands and knees, cringing as she took hold of the packet between two fingertips and pulled it from the lump with an audible _schtlikkkk_ as bits of gray jelly broke off and flew into the air. "What do I do with this?"

"Run a bath and pour it in," the lump-_Blaine_-answered. "I would do it, but I think my hands are stuck somewhere between my ribs and my kneecaps."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek and counted backwards from ten before she nodded and rose to her feet. The new ache in her mouth made it hard to argue she was dreaming, but any other possibility felt too impossible to believe. What else could she do but go to the hall bathroom and pour the packet's contents into a stream of running water and watch as the resulting bath turned a warm, golden color and released a rich scent of spice and earth into the air?

"Thank you so much," Blaine said, the eye poking above his left foot looking upwards to the tub's edge. "If I get myself on tiptoe, I think I can-"

"Here," Emma said, grabbing one of the towels and using it to cover her hands before she gingerly placed them to his sides and helped him climb into the tub. She pulled back with a start as he hit the water and instantly began to expand, the grayish color giving way to a healthy golden brown as the various wrinkles spread apart to show limbs and joints forced together in ways Emma was fairly certain the human body wasn't meant to be capable of. "I'll just-" Emma waved to the hall as she began to back out. "I'll be in the living room, if you need me."

"Thanks, Mom," Blaine said, the lower ridge of his form growing into a smile and rising on a solid neck as she left.

_This can't be happening_, she told herself as she sank back into her chair and took another drink. _This is too strange, too unbelievable, too- _She scrunched her eyes shut and spelled a series of difficult words in her head. _Appoggiatura. Autochthonous. Chiaroscurist. Pococurante. Prospicience. Succedaneum. _She took a breath before each one, holding it until she was sure she'd spelled the word correctly, and allowing herself another sip of her drink as a reward for each word she managed to complete.

Now, almost out of vodka and still holding a navy blue envelope bearing the words **_REHYDRATING NUTRIENT SOLUTION_**, Emma tried her best to remain calm. What other option did she have? She couldn't exactly call 911 and complain about an overly polite-what? Mutant? Being? _Thing?_-arriving in her mail? Would that be an issue for the Postmaster General, maybe? Emma didn't know, and she was pretty sure no one else would know, either.

"Mom?" Emma looked to the hall and blinked at the young man standing perfectly in its center. He was on the shorter side, with amber eyes peering out from beneath a head of damp curls. "I hope you don't mind," he said, looking down at the yellow chenille bathrobe he'd wrapped around himself. "This was the only thing I could find to wear."

"Oh, um-" Emma set her glass on a coaster and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. It was strange enough, having a complete stranger in her home. Having him in her bathrobe and calling her _Mom_ only made it more so. "It's fine," she said. "But don't you have any clothes?"

He took hold of the robe's belt and twisted the knot in his hands. "The institute said my parents would have some waiting for me."

"Parents," Emma said half under her breath. "I'm very sorry, but I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm not-"

Blaine frowned. "But the Institute doesn't make mistakes. They're always telling us that's why we can trust them."

"The institute?"

"The Dalton Institute for Immediate Adoption," Blaine answered, as if this should be common knowledge. "They're the ones who made me. There should be a welcome packet attached to the bottom of my carrier."

"Your carrier?" Emma asked, watching as Blaine walked over to the remnants of the canister and lifted it to reveal a large, red envelope stuck to the bottom.

"Here," he said, smiling as he handed it to her. "They used to ship them inside along with us, but the preservation gel made the ink run."

Emma took the envelope, thankful it seemed to have been spared the mess coating everything else, and removed the contents as Blaine watched. There was an assortment of official looking papers, an eight by ten portrait of a more polished and self-assured Blaine smiling confidently in a navy blazer with red trim, and a letter on thick, creamy stationary trimmed in red foil and printed with navy ink.

_Dear Mrs. Schuester,_

_Congratulations on your recent marriage and decision to start a family. We were very touched by your husband's letter, and are delighted to be of assistance. Dalton's history of growing boys into men and placing them in loving homes such as yours is a long and proud one, and we have every confidence you will find Blaine to be a wonderful addition to your home. _

_All of our boys are exceptional, but Blaine has often stood out from the rest in terms of general excellence. He is bright, personable, and always eager to please. If you should have any displeasure with him, he is quick to accept blame and eager to make amends. _

_In the highly unlikely event you find yourself displeased with your new son and choose to remove him from your home, please contact us via the same user-specific e-mail address used in your order confirmation. _

_Please allow time for Blaine to resume his normal shape and sound. We employ a state of the art and highly patented process in shipping our boys, and contents may have settled during transport._

_Sincerely,_

Emma wrinkled her brow as she tried to make out the signature. It was almost indecipherable, with no name typed beneath to help with her confusion. At least now, she knew where to go for answers. Will. She should have known it would be Will.

"You don't want to be my mom, do you?" Emma looked up from the letter and felt her face crumple as she took in the look of abject disappointment on Blaine's face. "I should have known when you were surprised to see me."

"Oh, I-" Emma bit her lip before she could say something she didn't mean. "I'm surprised," she finally said. "It looks like my fiancé-" She winced at the word that came next. "Ordered you as a surprise."

Blaine's face fell. "I ruined it," he said. "He probably wanted me to arrive after you returned from your honeymoon. I'm so sorry, Mom, I don't know how the Institute could have made a mistake like this, but-"

"No, Blaine." Emma felt a twinge of discomfort as she folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. "Our wedding was in February."

Blaine's head tilted as he blinked at her. "Then why-"

Emma averted her eyes and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. "I had a last minute change of heart." She swallowed. "We haven't spoken much, since."

"Oh," Blaine said, eyes widening with realization. "Oooohhh..."

"Yes," Emma said, nodding her head and keeping her eyes on the envelope. "_Oh_."

* * *

Hours later, after Emma had paid the two young men next door to haul the remains of the crate and canister out of the condo, after she'd scrubbed the living room floor for an hour and run the Shop Vac over it three times, she lay in bed without even pretending to try for sleep. She lay there with one hand holding the duvet tight to her chest and the other pressed to her forehead as if the right amount of pressure might produce some magical insight and understanding of what in the world was going on. Even as she tried to wrap her head around it, she knew it was an endeavor more likely to end in madness than mollification.

Will had _bought_ a child. A young man, really. A young man who was now sleeping on her living room sofa beneath the quilt her grandmother had given her and Will as a wedding gift, and insisted she keep even after Emma changed her _I do_ to _I don't_. Something about the thought of it seemed both poetic and perverse at the same time, and Emma mentally added _buy spare bedding_ to her next day's To Do list.

Emma sighed heavily as she closed her eyes and rolled onto her side. Her alarm would be going off before she knew it. The clock had read two thirty-five the last time she'd looked at it, and that had to have been at least half an hour ago. In twelve hours, she'd be done with work and the whole weekend would be waiting for her, full of time to focus on the problem at hand.

(_He's a person, not a problem._)

All she had to do was figure out what to do with Blaine in the meantime.

* * *

Emma blinked as she padded out of her room the next morning. "You made breakfast?"

"It's the least I could do," Blaine said, smiling sheepishly as he set a plate of pancakes and a small bowl of freshly cut melon onto the table. "I had a feeling you didn't sleep very well; I thought maybe having something nice to wake up to would make the morning a little easier."

The question in his voice was obvious, and Emma forced a smile as she smoothed her napkin in her lap and tried to think of an appropriate thing to say. A hot swell of shame coiled up inside of her as she thought about how she'd dedicated her adult life to helping young people find their footing, only to find her own completely gone when one of them appeared beneath her roof.

She looked up and sat a little straighter when she caught sight of the kitchen counters over the nearby breakfast bar. "You already cleaned up."

Blaine frowned as he took the chair to Emma's right. "Of course I did. Leaving a mess for someone else to clean isn't only ungrateful, it's rude."

Emma felt her lips form another smile, sleepy and reluctant, but real as she poked the tines of her fork into a perfect cube of melon. "Well, thank you, Blaine. It's a very sweet gesture."

"You're welcome." Blaine beamed, pink blossoming in his cheeks as he cut neatly into his pancakes. He lifted a bite, but paused before he could take it from the fork. He flicked his eyes toward her for a split second before turning them back to his plate, thumb running over the stem of his fork as he took a slow, careful breath.

Emma swallowed the bite in her mouth and dabbed at it with her napkin. "Is something the matter?"

"No!" Blaine dropped his fork with a clatter and rushed to pick it back up. "Everything's fine," he said, fingers shaking as his face formed a smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Everything is fine."

Emma set her napkin beside her plate and turned to face him more directly. Uncertain and confused as she was about, well, just about everything at the present moment, one thing Emma Pillsbury would never be able to miss was the sign of a young person who was definitely _not_ fine.

"Blaine-" Emma took a breath before placing her hand on top of his, its tremble brushing against her palm and sending a jolt of cold fear into her chest. "You've been put into a very strange situation; it's understandable if you're having some issues." She scooted her chair a little closer and looked at him until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Tell me what's upsetting you."

Blaine's eyes went wide and his breath came harder and faster, his chest rising and falling rapidly inside the thin, grey t-shirt Emma had given him the night before. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before they curled between his teeth and he bolted from his seat to run for the hall bathroom.

The muted _thud_ of the toilet seat cover hitting the porcelain tank hit Emma's ear less than a second before than the ragged sounds of Blaine emptying what little food he might have had in his system. She pushed herself back from the table and rushed to join him, falling to her knees and taking him by the shoulders before she could even realize what she was doing. "Oh, my god," she said, mostly to herself and trying to keep her own nausea at bay as Blaine coughed and sputtered into the bowl, his face red and damp with sweat.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, his voice a pathetic whimper as he braced his hands against the rim. "I don't know what happened."

"I don't either," Emma said, removing her hands and staring at them for a moment before she finally rested them against the floor and made a note to use extra Pine-Sol when she cleaned it later. "But I'd really like it if you would tell me what's on your mind."

Blaine took a few squares of toilet paper and wiped at his mouth before dropping them into the bowl and lowering the lid and flushing. "I don't want to be disrespectful."

"I'm sure you won't be." Emma tucked her knees beneath her and tried not to cringe as she reached out to pat him on the back. He seemed to relax under the touch, so she changed the motion to a pattern of slow circles, remembering how comforting she'd always found it as a child when she was sick. "You seem like a very polite young man. I can't imagine you'd ever be disrespectful on purpose."

"I-" Blaine lurched forward again, but managed to contain himself before he had to lift the lid again. "I know you weren't expecting me. It's okay if you don't want me, but I-" He swallowed and screwed his eyes tight. "What's going to happen to me?"

It was the same question that had kept Emma up for most of the night. She took a short breath and held it for a few seconds before she finally decided simple honesty was the best policy. "I don't know yet," she said, leaning to the side and trying to meet his eye. "But until we figure that out, you'll stay here with me."

Blaine gave a weak laugh and a nervous smile full of gratitude. "Thank you. Your couch is really nice."

Emma tore off a few more squares of toilet paper and handed them to Blaine, who used them to dab at his eyes and mop up his face. "Yes, but it's no place to sleep on an indefinite basis." A stray curl lopped out from behind his ear, and Emma tucked it back with a tiny smile. "Why don't you pick a book from one of the shelves or turn on the TV for a while? There's a lot to do today, but we can't do any of it until I make a couple of calls."


	2. Chapter 2

Emma's home office looked a lot like her living room, only smaller in scale. The walls were the same bright white, and the bold, citrusy colors of the tangerine orange love seat beneath her window and lemon yellow bookcases were a perfect compliment to the living room's lime green sofa and armchair.

_Mom has nice taste,_ Blaine thought to himself, forcing back a frown as he shook the word away. _Emma_, he reminded himself. _You need to call her Emma._

Blaine looked down at the too-big sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing. He wasn't sure whose they were, but it was obvious enough they weren't Emma's. The shirt felt nice enough, but it was faded and stretched out across the chest, causing the grey fabric to sag in front of him. The pants were loose and long, falling over his toes and leaving several inches of the soft material to pool on the floor. Blaine took the shirt's hem in his hands and twisted it, wondering if he looked as small as he felt.

His fog of worry broke for surprise when he heard the doorbell chime, followed by the sound of Emma's heels clacking against the parquet floor as she all but ran for the door. Blaine's hands slid to grip the edge of the seat cushions as he leaned forward, trying to decipher the muffled voices in the hall, but the door opened before he could make out any of the words. He straightened on instinct, a bright smile overtaking his face half a second before it caught up with his eyes.

"Blaine?" Emma stepped carefully into the room, a young man appearing behind her. "This is Kurt."

Kurt lifted one hand in a kind of wave, one finger after the other lowering into his palm until the tips brushed in a loose, almost-fist. "Hi."

"Hello." Blaine nodded in Kurt's direction as he hovered at Emma's side. "It's nice to meet you."

Kurt clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "Likewise."

Emma gestured toward Kurt with one hand. "Kurt is one of the students where I work. He's going to help us get you some clothes."

"Oh." Blaine blinked. "That's really nice of you, but I'm fine, I-"

"Blaine-" Emma shook her head. "There's no way of knowing how long you'll be staying here. You need more than what you're wearing."

"So, I'm not sure I understand." Kurt lifted an index finger as he faced Emma, eyes wandering in Blaine's direction. "Blaine's here because-"

Emma swallowed. "Blaine's kind of a...foster child. It's an unusual situation, but-" She looked into Blaine's eyes and nodded. "Unusual doesn't mean undeserving."

Blaine turned his eyes to his lap, closing them until he was sure they wouldn't water. "Thank you," he said, his voice quieter than he'd expected.

"You're very welcome," Emma said, her voice just as quiet and solemn as Blaine's. "Now, Kurt," she said, turning her attention back and taking a silver credit card from her skirt pocket. "I want you to take this card and get Blaine something more suitable to wear. I know it's somewhat inappropriate to ask this of you-"

Kurt raised one eyebrow above a bright blue eye. "Have you met Will Schuester? The man's _life_ is inappropriate." Emma's face clouded, and Blaine noticed as Kurt pulled a half step back. "I'm sorry, Miss Pillsbury. Too soon?"

"No." Emma shook her head, even as she took a pair of calming breaths. "It's fine."

A strange smile spread across Kurt's face as he turned back to Blaine. "Hold on a minute. Wait right here." He dashed out of the room, ducking behind Emma and causing her to spin as the front door was heard opening and shutting in a hurry.

"He seems nice," Blaine offered as Emma's mouth opened and shut in a wide _O_.

Emma walked across the room and took a seat beside him. "Kurt's a very...interesting young man."

Blaine curled his lips between his teeth and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I'm being so much trouble."

"Don't say that." Emma shook her head. "You aren't being any trouble. Your paperwork says you're sixteen years old. That's close to adulthood, but it doesn't stop you from being the child in this situation. As the adult, it's my responsibility to take care of your basic needs and keep you safe as long as you're here." She swallowed and laid one of her hands on his. Her skin was warm and soft against his. It felt nice, and Blaine found himself hoping she would keep it there for a while. "If anyone should be sorry in this situation, it's me."

Blaine chanced a sideways glance at her. "Because you have to figure out what to do with me?"

"Because I know this has to be harder on you than it is on me," Emma responded, her voice warm and reassuring. "I'm sorry I don't know how to make it easier."

"Sorry, sorry," Kurt said as he rushed back into the room with a small stack of clothes in clear plastic bags hung over one arm. "None of this is perfect, but maybe something here will work." He began draping the garments one by one over any nearby surface he could find, legs stretching and arms reaching as item after item went on display.

"Lucky for all of us, you live around the block from my dry cleaner. I picked these up on my way here." He reached out for a pair of tartan shorts with wide cuffs and held them out toward Blaine. "I know we're probably not the same size, but I thought maybe you could find something that would work for the afternoon. That way, you can go to the mall with me-" Kurt bit his lower lip, cheeks slightly pink as his eyes flicked toward Blaine's, then down to the floor. "Or you could go with Miss Pillsbury," he said, looking back at Emma and lowering the shorts. "And pick some things for yourself."

Blaine's mouth fell open as he eyed a high-necked, deep blue polo with teal details. "Oh, thank you, but I couldn't possibly-"

"Please." Kurt plucked the polo's hanger from the back of Emma's desk chair and offered it to Blaine. "Flawless though my taste may be, I don't know you well enough to know what would be right. After all-" Kurt smiled as Blaine took the shirt from him and their eyes met. "Clothes are a way of telling the world who we are. We all deserve the right to be ourselves."

* * *

Blaine stepped out of the shower and rubbed a fluffy, butter-colored towel against his head. He stretched one leg and sighed with relief as he felt another muscle take its proper shape and fill out the shape of his calf. Last night's soak in the nutrient solution had helped a lot, but there were still a few spots that needed to fall into place.

He turned to face the mirror, frowning when he noticed the dent in his left pectoral muscle. He'd always done really well in his physical education sessions, and taken pride in having a strong, healthy body. The lingering weak points from his transport-a lumpy section of his middle that still had to reposition itself, a too-skinny finger yet to fully rehydrate, a rib sitting at too steep a slant- made his body feel foreign and strange, only adding to his anxiety and insecurity.

He tried to push the thoughts away as he lowered the towel and dried the rest of himself off. He'd been out of his carrier for less than twenty-four hours, and it felt good to be free again. He focused on the stretch and pull of his limbs, the tension of each muscle as it flexed and moved, trying not to think about the likelihood of being recompressed and packed in the carrier for his return to the Institute. Whether he was here with Emma for another day or another week, he was determined to focus on the positive while he could.

He smiled as he opened the new toothbrush Emma had bought him at the drugstore. It had a diamond-shaped head with a bright, turquoise handle the same color as the toothpaste he carefully spread across the bristles, and the taste of mint as he used it to work on his teeth perked up his mood considerably. He'd had toothbrushes before, of course, but the ones at the Institute were all the same flat, navy blue with square heads and nothing a person would ever look at twice. It had taken him forever to pick out the one he was using, simply because there was so much variety in the selection.

_How strange_, he thought as he opened a fresh bottle of mouthwash and rinsed. _Having so many choices. _Just in the hours he'd spent shopping with Emma, Blaine had made more decisions than he had in his entire life, to that point. Toothbrushes, deodorants, shaving creams, razors, _underwear_-there were so many more options than he'd ever imagined possible.

He stepped into a pair of boxer briefs and smiled at how they hugged him, more soft and comforting than the thin boxers the Institute had given him. The smile grew as he pulled on an undershirt and the outfit he'd put together from the things he and Emma had picked out. He stared at the mirror again when he was finished, trying to reconcile the image of the nervous young man in the checked shirt and trim pants with the bright-eyed and hopeful face he'd always seen looking back at him from above his Institute uniform. It was different, and it was strange, but maybe, Blaine found himself thinking, just _maybe_-it was a thing he could grow used to.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma stood in front of the twin sinks, taking cherry tomatoes one by one from the bowl of vinegar solution in the left, rinsing them in the bowl of purified water on the right, and finally patting them dry before placing them in the large, yellow bowl on the counter with the rest of the salad ingredients. Emma liked salads. Salads were fresh, and bright, and they always tasted so clean and good and right and _safe_.

(_Safe would be a good thing, now_.)

"Can I help?"

Emma gave a start as she turned to find Blaine standing in the open bathroom doorway, his fingers still lightly pushing against the handle and pressing it down. "Don't you look handsome," she said, a smile spreading across her face as she wiped her hands with a clean dishtowel.

Blaine looked away as his cheeks turned pink. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much I like everything you bought me today. If I can find a way to pay you back-"

Emma forced her smile to remain in place as she tried to reassure him. "Don't worry about it. The card I used was attached to an account I set up a long time ago for emergencies and special occasions." She tossed the loose end of the towel to the side in what she hoped was a lighthearted manner, then back until it landed in the palm of her other hand. "I think we can agree getting you some necessities falls under that category."

Blaine's head shifted in an almost imperceptible tilt as curiosity filled his eyes. "Which one?"

Emma blinked and took half a step back, wincing when her hip collided with the counter's edge. "Which? What?"

Blaine's gaze was steady and sad. "Which one am I? An occasion, or -"

The doorbell saved them both an answer.

"Kurt," Emma said, feeling practically manic when she opened the door to find him holding a ceramic dish wrapped loosely in a fleece blanket. _What are you doing here_ seemed a bit rude, so she settled with a weak and high pitched "hi."

"Lemon balsamic chicken breasts," he said, beaming as he extended his arms to offer the dish. "Low sodium, low carb, low cal."

"Low taste," a man Emma recognized as Kurt's father said from just behind him.

"How would you know? You haven't even tasted them yet." Kurt shot his dad a look as Emma stepped aside to let them in, his expression melting into an eager smile when he spotted Blaine standing halfway between the bathroom door and the kitchen. "I thought, with how much shopping you and Blaine had to do, that you could use some help with dinner."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Emma said, immensely proud of how well she kept the exasperation from creeping into her voice. Before the previous day, she never would have imagined being frustrated to the point of annoyance by polite young men. Then again, she never would have imagined one showing up on her doorstep in a giant tin can, either, so she guessed that fair was fair. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope." Burt Hummel shook his head and slid his hands into his pockets as he watched his son take the dish into the kitchen. "Kid was on a mission the second he took those out of the oven."

Emma nodded as Blaine followed Kurt the few steps to the counter and used the potholders to take the dish from his hands. "Well," she said, sliding the towel through her fingers before curling it around her palm. "It looks like I'll be setting two more places, won't I?"

* * *

"Dinner was wonderful," Blaine said as he lowered his silverware, the blade of his knife pointing toward him from behind the fork as they sat neatly angled atop the otherwise empty plate. "Thank you for bringing the chicken, Kurt. It was delicious." He was quick to turn his head and address Emma. "The salad was good, too. I've never had one with cucumber in it before."

"You haven't?" Emma frowned a little as she tried to imagine a bowl of leafy greens without the cucumber's crunch. "That's always been my favorite part. When I was little, my grandmother would peel them and use the skin to frame my bowl whenever I'd visit." She thought of her grandmother's round, smiling face as she handed over a bowl with thin strips of bumpy green peel overlapping around the rim. "She knew how much I liked it."

"That must have been nice." Blaine's voice was thin, his smile weak as it wobbled in one corner, and for a second, Emma truly hated herself for forgetting her - and Blaine's - present circumstances.

"May I be excused?" Blaine asked in a composed, quiet voice. "Since you and Kurt worked so hard on dinner, and Mister Hummel is a guest, I think it's only right that I clear the table."

Kurt leapt up to join him when Emma nodded. "Let me help. Four place settings is too much for one person to carry." He gathered up everything Blaine couldn't and followed around the breakfast bar to help as Blaine rinsed everything off in the sink and loaded the dishwasher, chattering away the whole time.

"I'm sorry," Burt said with a shake of his head as Blaine led Kurt to Emma's office to show him the spoils of that afternoon's trip to the mall. "I tried telling him it was a bad idea, coming over uninvited like this."

"It's fine." Emma took a breath and placed her hands in her lap as she tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. "I think it made things easier, having someone else around to make conversation."

"Well he's good at that." He laughed and tugged the brim of his cap a little lower over his forehead. "Can always count on Kurt to have something to say."

Emma blinked as she stared at the bumpy, stucco ceiling. There was a burning in her throat and pressure behind her eyes and in her chest and before she knew what she was doing, her face had crumpled into what had to be a grotesque mask of misery as she began to sob.

"Hey," Burt said, scooting his chair back at an angle and leaning forward. "I know he talks a lot, but he's not _that_ bad."

"No, no." Emma shook her head and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "Kurt's fine, really. It's me-" She took a breath. "I'm the one who's not fine. Not me, not Blaine, not any of this."

"Hey," Burt said again, brow creasing as he looked at her. "I don't know what going on around here, but it can't be that bad."

Emma sniffed. "You have no idea." She blinked away her tears as she stared out toward the window at the far end of the living room. "_I_ have no idea. I don't know what I'm doing or what to do next or what-" A high-pitched whine escaped from the back of her throat as she lowered her head into her hands. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" Burt sank back into his seat and draped an arm around the back. "Help a kid who needs it? The agency - whoever it is that deals with foster kids, I don't know - they screen people, don't they? They wouldn't have sent him here if they didn't think you could handle it."

"But they didn't-" Emma inhaled, forcing air into her lungs and holding them full (_elucubrate, elegiacal, euonym_)before letting it all out in a slow, measured breath. "It's not a typical situation," she told him. "I didn't sign up for this. I didn't know he was going to be here until he showed up and even when he explained everything, I thought I might have been hallucinating."

He nodded. "Teenagers'll do that to ya."

She laughed in spite of herself. Only for a second, but enough to curl her lips into a wry grin. "You don't know the half of it."

"Oh yeah?" Burt jerked his head toward the office. "Kurt's probably oohing and aahing over whatever Blaine's showing him and picking out a china pattern to match."

"China?" Emma groaned as at least one thing began to make a lot more sense.

"Yep. Wanted to come on his own, but I thought a buffer might help." He nodded solemnly. "I'd offer to get you a drink, but you don't really seem the type."

Emma flung a hand over her shoulder in the direction of the fridge. "Top shelf of the freezer, behind the ice bucket."

He got up and returned a moment later with half an inch of the clear liquid in a coffee cup covered with sunflowers. "You really got a thing for cucumbers, don't you?"

"I do." Emma smiled as she lifted the cup in both hands and took a sip. Something about drinking vodka from the same cup she sometimes kept on her desk at work felt almost naughty, and the spark of rebellion in it was surprisingly fun. "But you're right, I'm not usually the type to keep this sort of thing around."

"Get it recently?"

She drummed her fingers against the cup as she considered her answer. "A few months." She tilted her head in his direction as she met his eyes from the corners of her own. "I bought it the night I moved back here. It was the first time I ever set foot in a liquor store."

"You lived here before?" He shrugged as Emma blinked her surprise. "You said you moved back, so I figured-"

"Oh." She nodded. "Yes, yes I did." She took another sip and rested the cup on the table. "My ex-husband and I bought it when we got married. I sold my old condo when we bought this one, so he said it was only fair I keep it. I thought about renting it out when I moved in with Will, but..." She trailed off as images of strangers living in her home and scuffing her floors and cracking her tiles began to overwhelm her. "I don't know," she said quietly. "Maybe I always knew I'd need a place I could return to."

"Yeah." Burt nodded as he gestured to her cup and she shook her head to indicate she'd had enough. "I think we all need a place like that, some time or another."

Emma turned and looked over her shoulder in the direction of the office. "We do," she said quietly. "We really do."

* * *

Emma crouched beside the couch, tucking one of her new sheets around the cushions. She pitched forward a little when she leaned across to fit it into the crease between the seat and the back, and she felt the need to lower her head for a moment to regain her balance. Whatever had kept her going throughout the day seemed to have drained away in an instant, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer exhaustion of the past twenty-seven hours.

"Are you okay?" She turned around and gave Blaine a tired smile as he padded across the room in his new slippers and a pair of creamy pajamas with an amber stripe that matched his eyes. "I can do it, if you're tired."

"It's okay," she said, smoothing the sheet out across the cushions and layering another loosely on top before adding the quilt. "All done."

"Thank you." Blaine lowered himself to the couch as Emma gave in to her exhaustion long enough to curl her feet beneath her on the rug. "Your couch is the perfect length for sleeping, you know. It's really cozy."

"That's nice to know." She tugged a stray thread from the edge of the quilt and tucked a bit of the sheet back under the cushions where it began to poke out beneath Blaine's weight. She let her eyes linger on the cushion for a few moments, visually mapping out the wrinkles and folds caused by the pressure of the body on top of them. Her couch was comfortable, but it wasn't very large. She'd never had any difficulty moving it about in order to clean beneath it, and if she one day decided to rearrange the furniture, she was sure it wouldn't cause her any real difficulty to do so.

"Emma?"

"Yes?" Emma blinked a few times as she looked back to Blaine, his curls soft against an apple-green pillowcase.

Blaine pulled the covers up under his chin and looked at her as he sank against the cushions. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Emma said as she ran her hand over the quilt as it hung over the cushions and fell to the floor. "And if it isn't, I promise it will be, soon."


End file.
